


The Title of Hound

by holodex



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bloodlust, Bloodplay, Breathplay, Denial of Feelings, Emperor Hux, M/M, Power Bottom! Hux, Power Dynamics, Snoke is dead, Underlying Tenderness, long live the emperor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holodex/pseuds/holodex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Wholly submission. Holy submission.</em><br/><em>Hux, eventually, gets both.<em></em></em><br/><br/>Kylo recounts Hux's rise to the throne whilst <em>literally<em> underneath him.</em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Title of Hound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madetobeworthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madetobeworthy/gifts).



> This is terribly short, and weak-ended, and I apologize for that! I hope it brings you enjoyment in some form, at least, dear giftee!

_“The galaxy lies at our feet, my dear pet. It kneels for the Emperor.” ___

Wholly submission. Holy submission. 

Hux, eventually, gets both. 

Holy, as worshipped by countless devotees belonging to various systems. Revered as a Saint. Of what, Kylo has no idea. The reverence has something to do with the symbolism that inevitably accompanies Hux’s rule. The death of Snoke, a previously unchallenged and unyielding force, brings with it the dawning of a new era. Hux at its forefront, of course. No other could have so easily persuaded (seduced, damn near) Snoke’s own protégé to turn on him, to kill him by their own hand. 

There is something, Kylo will admit, _divine _about Hux. Almost inhuman. The amount of blood on his hands, the harshness of his newfound rule as Emperor, and still he is regarded as sacred, as pure.__

The Saint of what, Ren has no idea. Patron Saint of Bloodlust, perhaps? He does delight so in the taste of it, makes Kylo lap at his own wounds like a fucking cat before he’ll let him kiss him, and even then, always biting and bruising and angry, all teeth, sinking into the skin of lips and necks until Kylo can feel his skin break, _can see the red rust on Hux’s lips once he releases him- ___

Wholly submission. Hux gets this, too. 

There are the subjects. Stretching across the galaxy, planets that submit by will or by force. It makes little difference. They all, in the end, bow to him. This, Hux tells him, is what's important. 

And then, of course, there is Kylo.

Should he choose to analyze their relationship, the dredges of tenderness he holds for the former General (amid scathing hickies, like goddamn teenagers, unusually bloodthirsty ones, mind you), he would account said feelings to be nothing more than a subconscious reaction to the debt to Hux he has found himself in. 

The death of Han Solo had brought nothing but light. Blinding, smothering, suffocating light. It had consumed Kylo for months after the events at Starkiller Base. He had existed only in fear, a mental and physical weakness he swore never to stoop to again. If the one action that had promised to redeem him, to banish all remaining gravitation to the light from him could not cleanse him of his past, _what could? ___

Hux, Kylo knows, is what finally bleached him of it. 

When he kills Snoke, he half-expects the light to come flooding back in, to swallow him whole. It does not. When he rids them of Snoke, when Hux ascends to the throne, Kylo is devoured by a wickedness he can hardly bear. Hux’s influence, no doubt. These are the things he inherits, in light (no pun intended) of Hux’s rule. 

_1) The visions. ___  
_2) A reluctant, masochistic lover affixed permanently to his side. ___  
_3) The title of Hound. ___  


The visions are an unexpected gift. They begin to occur hours after Snoke’s death. Hux calls it a blessing, says The Maker surely smiles down on them. A transfer of ultimate power. Somehow, by killing his master, Kylo absorbs an ability that surpasses even that of the force. The gift of sight. Prophecy begins to grace his dreams. Better still, Hux’s fevered ecstasy at the mere mention of them. 

Hux. His reign only brings them closer. Dangerously close, but close all the same. Power of the supreme variety proves an intoxicating stimulant. They become completely, absolutely drunk with it. All victories are celebrated, quite literally _marked. _The death of Leia Organa is commemorated by a rather bruising night spent in Hux’s personal chambers. Kylo recalls a particularly fruitful week, during which one could keep track of the number of rebel bases conquered by counting the angry, red lacerations scoring his shoulders and chest, courtesy of his beloved Emperor.__

Hound. Whispers of it sweep the galaxy. _Hux’s Hound. The Emperor’s Dog. _It all suits him to a degree he isn’t willing to admit. He can remember, in blood-fuelled blurs, leading troops into battles in systems he can no longer name, with the sole intention of tearing out the throats of any who dared oppose Hux, who dared speak out against his Emperor. _Unyielding loyalty suited him, _Hux had simpered once, mercilessly sterilizing a particularly deep gash on Kylo’s right bicep left by the Emperor’s own canines.____

There are less kind names given, of course. Dameron’s last breath had been used for insult, poor unnoble man he was. Kylo’s foot had been on his windpipe, he hadn’t believed the man deserving of the quick death his saber promised, and even with seconds separating him from his rather timely demise, he had covered his fear with a taunt. 

_“Butchered by the Emperor’s own lapdog, the imperial whore. I’m honoured, Ren.” ___

The last word came out a retch. Kylo had heard it as Ben and had crushed Poe’s trachea under his boot before he could finish. Last words were an honour the man did not deserve, after all. He was lucky Kylo permitted he utter any at all. 

Regardless of the intention of the titles the galaxy assigns Kylo, they are, every last one of them, thoroughly enjoyed by Hux. He seems to derive great pleasure from any title that casts Kylo as belonging to him. He made Kylo swear an oath, long before they slaughtered Snoke, back when they had only begun to be intimate, made him promise to never go looking in his head, swear never to seek out his thoughts and internal monologues (This is no exaggeration, the man gives whole speeches in his head) without explicit permission.

Kylo had agreed immediately, no qualms, embarrassingly eager to please him. 

And he has never _intentionally _broken said oath. He doesn’t seek out the other man’s innermost thoughts purposefully, no, not at all. They are just, just so _loud.___ He can hardly ignore them when they ring in his ears. 

Tonight is no exception. They blare, they _scream. _Kylo cannot help but catch a few lines of internal address before he makes an effort to block Hux’s thoughts out completely.__

_“My hound, my dog. Devotee of the Emperor. Kylo Ren, Knight of Hux. Belonging to the Emperor, his enduring lover, his obedient servant. Mine, my Ren, mine.”_

Kylo hears all this before he can stop himself. This mindless chatter, this listing of various titles and endearments (Kylo swears he catches a _‘beloved’ _), is apparently part of what drives Hux’s actions tonight.__

 _ _Another thought, muddled by Kylo’s own. A whole slew of new titles and sweet nothings, followed by a small revelation on Hux’s part.__

_“But this, this is how I most enjoy you, pet.”_

Kylo flushes at this, wonders if Hux can feel the heat spreading across his chest. The man is atop him, eyes clamped shut, riding him feverishly and ruthlessly. One hand wrapped around Kylo’s throat, just tight enough to dizzy the man. The other resting on Kylo’s inner thigh, for leverage or to serve as a reminder to Kylo, to remind him who holds the power, he is unsure. It accomplishes both. Hux bears down on him, rolling his hips restlessly, seeking purchase by digging his nails into the meat of Kylo’s upper leg until the skin breaks. 

Hux has a clear weakness for the milk-white skin there, Kylo knows. The scabbing, rust-coloured scars that live there are evidence enough. Burn scars, courtesy of Hux’s smoking habit. Like a bloody constellation, roughly resembling the Emperor’s initials. He’s been woken by Hux’s hand, fingers gently tracing the cicatrix, more times than he can be bothered to count. 

Kylo can feel the wet of blood in all the places Hux gouges, and still it is the closest to tender they’ve been in a while. A pearl necklace of blue fingerprints will undoubtedly circle his neck tomorrow, but his mouth has yet to taste gore. He wonders, some nights, if the wounding is all that keeps them from going completely weak, from dropping all pretense and giving in fully to the more humane feelings they’ve developed for each other. It would be spineless, he knows, but he cannot deny how sorely he craves it. 

Hux gives a particularly sharp gasp, rolling his hips just so, and Kylo stops wondering.


End file.
